


Deuxième Appendice

by Amanuensis



Category: Les liaisons dangereuses | Dangerous Liaisons - Choderlos de Laclos
Genre: Angst, Epistolary, F/M, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-16
Updated: 2011-12-16
Packaged: 2017-10-27 10:26:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/294748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amanuensis/pseuds/Amanuensis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An additional collection of letters reveals that the conquests of the Vicomte de Valmont were not confined to the ladies of the controversy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deuxième Appendice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [V_V_lala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/V_V_lala/gifts).



> V_V_lala requested Valmont/Danceny, which led me in one inexorable direction: the letters we didn't get to see. Happy Yuletide!

**Deuxième Appendice**

 _The reader of the original manuscript will be familiar with the means by which the correspondence of the involved parties was brought to light. From the hands of the Vicomte de Valmont to those of the Chevalier Danceny to Madame de Rosemonde, each of these individuals admits their selection of letters omits some documents. Moreover the original documentarian has put forth only those letters that he feels are pertinent or interesting, freely admitting this further omission._

 _However, a handful of additional correspondence has been located in the documentarian's collection that has been deemed of potential interest; the degree to which these letters impact the_ scandale Merteuil _may be seen as tangential, yet the later editors count them as more than trivial, as they illuminate new details on the characters of the involved parties. They are included here for the reader._

 

 _From the Chevalier Danceny to the Chevalier Rémillard_

My dear friend, I am bursting to tell someone, and who better than you? Since you have protested several times that your familial obligations mean you cannot leave that tiny backwater of a country home to join me in Paris, I am writing to share this news with you before any other. In our younger years we shared so many of our doubts and fears when it was not seemly for ripening young men to speak of even having fears; I am delighted to share this happy news with you and put to rest the doubts that plagued the both of us for so long in our youth. You will understand of what I am speaking.

I am in love with an exquisite young woman. After so many years of education in the routine of how to treat ladies with the honor they deserve, to pay them court as they expect, I find it no longer a matter of etiquette, but of heartfelt joy! Her name is Cécile Volanges, and she loves me as I love her. I must tell you how it came to be.

I was introduced to the fair Cécile, a girl of good family, who will be dowered with significant wealth when she weds--which, indeed, is meant to be soon, as she is engaged to a man of title and means, the Comte de Gercourt, but that is neither here nor there. Her mother is naturally concerned that her daughter's accomplishments be polished as befits a young bride-to-be of such standing, so Cécile has been encouraged in her music, and my company has been found acceptable to encourage and accompany her. I have had good reason to thank my tutors for insisting that I continue to develop my talents in the same discipline, so that even if I am a younger son of my household I will still have the refinements that will keep me well-sought in society.

I knew all this--the engagement, that is--when I met the young lady. I mean no self-praise but tell only the plain truth when I say that I was unreservedly admiring to both mother and daughter. Cécile, as was proper, remained modest at my compliments, but it was immediately evident that I had charmed the young lady in a way that she could not conceal, as she blushed so prettily and stammered her replies so endearingly that I found her behavior sweeter than any overt flirtation. I became aware of how fresh and lovely a girl she was, and as we sang together that day I found myself more and more taken with her. I even had the boldness to suggest a romantic duet, to which she agreed and sang her part most tenderly. That she was engaged to another seemed to be of no matter to me, and in fact made my affections seem all the more true and noble. How easy it would have been to fall in love with a woman with no attachments, whose standing was less affluently placed so that she might have a freer choice of husband. It was this that convinced me I had indeed found a pure love, one that emotion dictated I find worthy of pursuit.

Happily it has taken only a very few letters of pleading with Cécile for her to yield to my regard, and in her latest letters she is as passionate in her affections for me as I am for her. Naturally our affections have been limited to letters so far, as we must maintain great secrecy from Cécile's mother, but I so look forward to the opportunities when we may meet and make veiled communication with our eyes, when the impassioned notes of the instruments under our fingers sing yearningly for each other, and when we may indulge in each thrilling opportunity to tuck away yet another missive for each other to discover, filled with the full measure of our longing. Ah, my friend, be happy for me. Love is the most intoxicating feeling!

24th August, 17--

 

 _From the Chevalier Rémillard to the Chevalier Danceny_

Of course I will be happy for you, my friend. I will only chastise you a little, for telling me nothing about the young lady except that she blushes. You spent so much of your letter detailing the obstacles to your romance--Mademoiselle de Volanges' family, her engagement, the watchful eye of her mother, and the romance which you must play out only in letter and in song--and so little of your letter telling me anything about Cécile herself. What is the color of her hair? The color of her eyes, the shape of her lips? It seems to me a true lover would spend fully half of his letter dwelling on the eyes of his beloved alone. It is enough to make one think your passion is inspired by the obstacles in your path, rather than by the young lady herself. We both know what incentive a little hindrance can create when it comes to the inspiration of passion!

Ah, but perhaps you are only jealous of your young lady, and do not wish another man, even your long-time friend, to have a description of your lovely Cécile. Even in writing you could not bear another rival, yes? And I am sure that you have written all the amorous prose that Cécile's hair, eyes, and lips could inspire to the young lady herself, to flatter her and draw her ever deeper into your mutual rapture.

In any case of course I am very happy for you. Cécile sounds exactly like the sort of girl I should wish for you, every inch the uncalculating ingénue, though that does not mean she is any less likely to break your gentle heart, my friend. Write to me again, and tell me more of your happy romance.

26th August, 17--

 

 _From the Chevalier Danceny to the Chevalier Rémillard_

I have forgiven you the cruel implications in your last letter--less in love with Cécile herself than I am with the obstacles, what a ridiculous idea! You are not the friend I thought you were, to task me with such barbs.

But love has made me a noble soul, and I forgive you with all my heart in order to share more good news with you: I have gained an ally to assist me in my courting of Cécile, in the person of the Vicomte de Valmont. He has been most kind to me; there is something about the man that inspires me to think, here is a man who understands the twin extremes of joy and pain that love may bring, so earnestly does he declaim on love's virtues. He tells me of a lady-love of his own for whom he also quests; when I see his face as he speaks I am so very moved. I know I am nowhere near as worldly as he, but in his thinking I feel a kindred spirit to mine; he has sworn to aid me in my pursuit of Cécile.

Even to write those words gives me a paroxysm that is almost a chill. It is not that I seek to dishonor Cécile, but that I love her so much, surely our physical bond is what naturally must follow. It is so hard to write these thoughts clearly! But I am so fortunate that Monsieur de Valmont understands. I am pleased that I will see him again soon, and he will help me to better voice these thoughts aloud, which I will then all the more clearly share with you in writing, my dear friend.

5th September, 17--

 

 _From the Chevalier Danceny to the Chevalier Rémillard_

I can hardly believe that only days ago I was writing to you to tell you what a true ally I had made in the Vicomte de Valmont. My dear friend, he is more than an ally; he is an angel of goodness. How I would have lived through these past few days without his support I cannot even begin to think.

Let me explain. Only two days ago, the greatest tragedy befell Cécile and me: we were discovered. That is to say, our correspondence was discovered by Madame de Volanges, who read all the letters I had delivered to Cécile, and was understandably angered. Her words to me were in no uncertain terms: I must not return to their house, I must not communicate with Cécile ever again, and I must give over all thoughts of her. She even demanded that I turn over Cécile's letters to me into her hands, which of course I shall never do. Oh, how I despaired; I wrote as apologetic a letter to Madame de Volanges as I could produce, but I knew even as I wrote it I should never be forgiven. To whom could I turn? Misery made me bold enough to importune my new friend the Vicomte, and I begged him to meet with me. I knew not what I truly expected him to do, only that I had to share my grief with someone who would understand, and I felt he was the one who could comprehend and comfort my woe.

My friend, I had not spent an hour in his company before the grey clouds of my despair were all but lifted; the man is the patron saint of all thwarted young lovers, I swear to you. Not only did he make me see that this was but a tiny stepping stone upon the path of my pursuit of Cécile, but he swore to help me still further along it. Cécile departs soon in the company of her mother to visit one Madame de Rosemonde, who is an aged relative of Valmont's; the Vicomte himself has promised to go there on the pretext of a visit and act as a go-between for my correspondence and Cécile's. He says I am not to think of this as any kind of favor to him, as the lady of his own interests is also with Madame de Rosemonde, and he is pleased to have the opportunity to see her again. Can you think of any kindness greater?

I am ashamed to think that I can never achieve the worldliness that the Vicomte wears so effortlessly. He is wealthy, fahsionable, a figure fine enough to make ladies swoon even if he were not so wealthy or titled, and now he shows his generosity of spirit to me, a minor son of a noble house, all in the name of sympathy for the plight of those who suffer for true love's sake. Wish me well, my friend, for there are truly noble souls in this world.

10th September, 17--

 

 _From the Chevalier Danceny to the Chevalier Rémillard_

O heaven! My very dear friend, it is unfair for me to burden you with this letter; I can scarcely write, and hardly know where to begin. Such confusion I have; it cannot make for any kind of coherent communication, and yet I must write, I must write to you, who will understand why I am in such a state. How sorry I am, remembering my previous letters, that I spoke so callously of my new friendship with the Vicomte, as though my friendship with you were something less now that I had a new friend at my side. Forgive me, please forgive me, I beg. And yet I do not know if you can forgive me all that I am about to reveal; I can not even forgive myself, though I do not even know what it is that needs forgiveness.

You will recall that the Vicomte de Valmont had promised to act as my Mercury, to deliver the messages between Cécile and me out of his love and concern for my miserable state. Yesterday morning--can it have been so long as yesterday? I can scarcely believe it--I went to see him, invited to his house expressly the day before he was to leave for his aunt's house, and I brought with me a message that I had written for Cécile. (When I think of all the sentiments I poured into that letter for Cécile, sentiments that I knew to be true when I wrote them, it seems as though I was another man entirely, that short time ago. How can two such men as I am, as I have been, exist in the same flesh?)

But I must tell you; I must commit the words to you. I gave the letter for Cécile to the Vicomte; it was sealed, of course, and he was giving it and me an odd look, as though he were going to request to read it. But he did not; he only said something to me about passion in a letter being all well and good, but now that I was upon an even more direct path to my beloved, I would need to show Cécile, when the next happy opportunity allowed us to meet, that I was every bit the devoted lover in person as I was in writing.

My first thought was to assure him that I had no such fears on that score, but it occurred to me that he was speaking as if he were expecting Cécile and me to have the opportunity to meet and to speak freely, and I voiced that thought to the Vicomte. He was all smiles, and even laughed a little, yet it did not seem as though he were laughing at me, even when he answered me in the affirmative, that surely I understood that was his intention for me? Since Cécile and I could no longer meet under the circumstances we had heretofore employed, under the approving eye of her mother, the only thing to do now was for us to meet in secret, to which end he would help us, and during which time she and I would be able to give full voice to our ardor, directly to each other, and there would not even be any barrier to our touching, or kissing, whenever it was that we were concealed together.

I must admit the realization left me breathless for a moment, as this is the sort of thing a lover dreams of day and night, of course, but I had not expected that the next time I would see Cécile we would have such freedom. Again the Vicomte laughed, this time to see me so speechless in wonder, but again it did not seem an unkind laughter. He asked me what experience I had with women, and I was proud to tell him that Cécile was my first love, my true love. I had thought he would be pleased, but his face showed the first signs of doubt. He said it was all well and good to love purely, but the first time I spoke aloud and freely to Cécile, indeed, the first time I took her hand beyond one of our usual public greetings, or the first time that I kissed her, she would expect the strength of my love to show through boldly in each of those gestures. Women expected a lover to be confident, not trembling, even in their encounters, even in those of one's first true love. "Those in particular," I remember him saying.

I admit I did not know what to say to that. It is true that the thought of touching Cécile, of kissing her, leaves me trembling when I imagine it, but I had never thought that was a bad thing. Indeed, I still do not quite believe it. I feel as if Cécile would have...ah, now I find I am speaking as though the chance for Cécile to discover the man I thought I was only hours ago is now gone forever. It is still so hard to believe.

I am trying to remember the state I was in when Monsieur de Valmont said these things to me; I was confused, and I think I tried to square my jaw, to draw every bit of manliness and assurance into myself and my voice as I promised him I would, in the name of all true lovers, do my utmost not to disappoint my Cécile, that I would be as bold as he told me I must be. This brought his smile back, and he said he had not been criticizing me; indeed, he was promising me greater friendship still, in that he meant to help me in this very thing.

You must understand, we were in the parlour together, and though Monsieur de Valmont was sitting next to me, I had not really had the sense that we were alone together; servants were likely to come and go at any time, though it was true that the Vicomte had dismissed his manservant earlier. When the Vicomte touched me then, I took it only as a moment of getting my attention, a touch of reassurance from friend to friend. And he was speaking so earnestly of helping me, I never thought that he meant anything other than paving the way for Cécile and me to be together. Even when both of his hands were on me, I never...no, no, I must not lie. I think then it did surprise me, and I thought to say something about how I did not understand, but he did not let me speak; he was suddenly stern, and said he would teach me to be bold with the fairer sex, that all I would have to do would be to pay attention, and to follow his example.

I did not expect...I swear I did not completely understand, not even then, not even when he said that I must not pull away from him, becoming oddly uncertain as I was where I sat next to him upon the divan. The first lesson was to be a kiss, he said, and all I could think was that I had not heard him properly, but that if I moved away from where I was sitting I would have failed in his first instruction, and then what would he think of me?

It turned out I had indeed heard him properly. Afterwards, I tried to say something, but I found myself unable to form any clear words in my head to express my surprise in a way that would not sound completely foolish--and by that time he was praising me for my sensibility in paying attention to the lesson, so that anything I might have thought to say felt as though it would have been a rejection of his experience, of his friendship, and I did not know what to say or do until he had repeated the lesson, not just once but several times, and was giving me instruction, even as he did so, so that for me to refuse to do as he suggested would have seemed obstinate and dull-witted.

I began to hope I had indeed been foolish in thinking there was anything other than beneficial intentions behind the Vicomte's motives--he was complimenting me for my quick study, and seemed so genuinely appreciative that the fears that had begun to plague me now began to melt away, so that when Monsieur de Valmont took my hands in his and placed them on his own body, showing me where to touch and thus increase the pleasure for both parties in a kiss, and then allowed his own hands to demonstrate still further as they moved over me...I found that I understood the pleasure of what he spoke, and thought to myself that I could only profit by this knowledge, until...My friend, I do not know when it happened, that I was not thinking of the lesson at all, that while the Vicomte's every approving murmur delighted me I was taking greater pleasure in earning his esteem than I was in absorbing whatever wisdom he was teaching me, and I felt I wanted to demonstrate this boldness which he had named a manly virtue as I imagined it would please him still further.

Believe me when I tell you I had not completely lost all reason; yes, it seemed logical when the Vicomte suggested that the formality of our clothing was hindering our freedom of movement, but when he proposed that we move to the bedroom he quite took me off guard; I asked how far he wished to take this lesson, doubting that any activity requiring a bedroom to enact it encompassed anything the two of us could demonstrate in the way of a man with a woman. To which Monsieur de Valmont, in his smiling way, said that the lesson was more than such physical details, surely I understood that? I had done so well, he said, in understanding so far that the heart of the lesson was boldness; was I suddenly afraid, he asked me? To which I could make only one answer. So the lesson did continue, in the bedroom in question, and it was not so long after that, either, that I failed to care that instruction was or had been our target.

Afterwards I did not know what to say. I hardly knew what to think. I said as much to the Vicomte, that I had failed at keeping the lesson of all this foremost in my mind; I felt I had to confess this thing to him. He did not seem at all displeased; in fact, he answered that he had had the same difficulty at times, but that he was pleased with the whole of the afternoon, and would I not stay to dinner, and and afterward we could remedy some of the lack we had both had in paying attention to his tutelage? When he put it like that, ~~it seemed churlish for me to~~ No, I am not being honest. I was pleased to stay longer. I was determined to please him, to show him that I would indeed be his dutiful student for whatever he desired to teach me.

It was not until very late at night that I left his house, and I only took my leave at that point because I wished to arrive home before the sun was up, so that fewer individuals might note my return at such an hour and wonder what had kept me so long. Before I left, the Vicomte held up my letter to Cécile, kissed it with a smile, and promised that my beloved should receive it as quickly as he could deliver it. My friend, it was the first time in hours that I had even thought of Cécile. What does this mean? I write this letter to you as the dawn moves relentlessly on into harsh day, and I do not know who I am in this new glare of sun, in this piercing new brightness that illumines my fears and my faults. Am I the same man who ~~loved~~ loves Cécile? How can the duration of one day, begun only with the intention of becoming even more devoted to my beloved, change me so much and cast me in this doubt? Judge me as harshly as you will, my dear friend; it can be with no greature censure than I judge myself.

The Vicomte leaves today. Two days ago I would have wished him all haste to take my letter to Cécile. Now I do not know what to think. That he is leaving Paris fills me with an emptiness I cannot explain.

12th September, 17--

 

 _From the Chevalier Rémillard to the Chevalier Danceny_

My dear fellow, my heart aches for your dilemma. I know you must blame yourself and I will not tell you to do otherwise, for you and I are of the sort who bear our own burdens, not seeking to place the blame elsewhere, feeling it ignoble to cry traitor at any one but our own selves.

Yet I can see all too well how Monsieur de Valmont must bear some of the blame. He could not know how vulnerable you have been to doubts of this nature, how fragile your new love for Mademoiselle de Volanges must be without being tested like this. I am afraid to say anything more injurious against your Vicomte, for fear that you will be angry with me; do you feel he is your friend still? If so, I can only urge caution. Perhaps his intentions were not so fine as they appeared; I say so not knowing, but only wanting to preserve your tender heart! If the kindred soul of his that you felt you shared is more of a carnal nature than you had first supposed, he may have meant to confuse you in a way that benefited him as well. Not that I am saying that it was ill-intentioned; it may only have been selfish.

Do not let these doubts crush that chance at happiness you had heretofore forged. My suggestion to you is that you continue your correspondence with Mademoiselle de Volanges, just as you had planned. Do not fail to pour forth all that passion that had sustained you into your new letters to her. By this you will surely rekindle all those same feelings of affection you have had for the young lady, I am sure. My poor troubled friend!

14th September, 17--

 

 _From the Chevalier Danceny to the Chevalier Rémillard_

I have thought long and hard about your advice, and I have come to the conclusion that it is sound. I have penned another letter to Cécile and sent it on to Monsieur de Valmont to be delivered to her, and in it, as you have suggested, I have not overlooked one jot of the same intensity that I previously devoted to her letters. Surely that will remedy any doubts I might have regarding the nature of my feelings for her.

And yet...yes, I will confess it to you here, for I do not want to conceal anything from you, my dearest friend, my true friend. I confess I did not seal the inner letter to Cécile; the Vicomte will assume it an oversight on my part, I am sure, but I could not stop myself from aiming a few phrases of accusation at him within my letter to Cécile, in case he does choose to read it. "Valmont neglects me and perhaps has forgotten me," I wrote to her, knowing she will think I only mean in returning her correspondence to me, but the man himself will understand what I mean. I am ashamed of myself that I should resort to such tricks and double meanings; Valmont would say it was not bold of me. But how can I tell him I think constantly on his return to Paris? I cannot. I will distract myself and compose another letter to Cécile for the future, one which has no deceiving messages in it, and think better of myself.

18th September, 17--

 

 _From the Chevalier Danceny to the Chevalier Rémillard_

He writes to me again. Not merely to accompany Cécile's letters; in fact, there was none from her this time, and he sends explanation for that, that Cécile is refusing him a method by which the two of us may correspond. O God, what does this mean? Can she sense the emotion in my letters is forced? Can she tell that I am different? Has Valmont told her, heaven forbid?

Valmont says in his letter that I must not blame him if he can be of no more use to me, and I need not look for coded messages in that; the cut is as plain as day. He wants to see if I will plead with him not to abandon me. I could do this, if I had no pride, and I am sure he would think all the less of me. But I will instead give him reason to hold me in better respect; I will reassure him that his friendship means more to me than merely his function as a messenger to Cécile, and to Cécile I will hide all my doubts and insist that she find a way to use Monsieur de Valmont's method of communication, if she still loves me. If she does not, then I will know her answer.

27th September, 17--

 

 _From the Chevalier Danceny to the Chevalier Rémillard_

Either I am much deceived, or love is not at all the mystery it has seemed to me all these years; it appears there are a multitude of individuals who understand love's pains so well that they are partial to lovers trapped by misfortune. Of course I exaggerate, but it is surprising to learn that Cécile's close friend, my aquaintance the Marquise de Merteuil, is Cécile's confidante in our star-crossed romance. I did not credit that Cécile would have her own intimate friend just as the Vicomte de Valmont has been mine. Not just as he has been, of course, but it appears these cultivated souls like nothing so well as to be useful to the less experienced mortals who pine for an inaccessible beloved.

The Marquise is the most amiable woman, and has taken me into her confidence as well; I can speak openly with her about Cécile, though I have not dared to say anything beyond what she expects me to say about a young woman whom I am believed to love with all my being. Certainly I cannot tell her about Monsieur de Valmont! But I am immensely grateful to the Marquise for her friendship; she is kind and gracious and quite a beautiful woman. When I look at her I feel many of the stirrings that first attracted me to Cécile, and this is a most welcome distraction from the thoughts of Monsieur de Valmont which still distress me. She, it is plain, also loves Cécile very much, and this strengthens my resolve that Cécile is the object of affection that I should and will wholeheartedly desire.

I wonder if you will chide me for spreading myself thin in these friendships. Yours is of the utmost importance to me, of course, and I will listen to you if you tell me to be more circumspect.

17th October, 17--

 

 _From the Chevalier Rémillard to the Chevalier Danceny_

I am very happy you have found still more "kindred souls" to help you shoulder your burdens, particularly those of the female sex. Do not fear my distress that you have others besides me to share your troubles; I cannot, as you know, leave to be by your side, and I shall always be your true friend no matter how many others come to share your very desirable company.

It gladdens me to hear that the attentions of another beautiful woman can capture your fancy as well. Rather than tell you to guard your heart, as I cautioned you before, I will hope instead that your gentle character takes pleasure in this new friendship as well.

19th October, 17--

 

 _From the Chevalier Danceny to the Chevalier Rémillard_

I have neither the strength nor the courage to tell you of all the turns that have left me in this new state. I have just left the house of the Marquise de Merteuil, and I am still unable to believe that my fervent reassurances of her value to me should have inspired such warm attachment in her, to the point where she reproached me for leaving her to languish without my company. What have I become, that the letters I compose to those whose good intentions I would have as a kindness, are filled with such protestations that I am believed even more a suitor than I planned to appear? With Cécile, with the Marquise, it was easy. I could never have dared to lay such declarations bare to the Vicomte, the one whose indifferences still pierce me, render me mute to speak my heart to him.

And now the Marquise has forced me to feel as though I have given her cause to believe she has conquered even Cécile in my affections. I cannot fault any but myself, recalling what I wrote to her, the attentions that I have paid to her in Cécile's absence, the way I have clung to her side and her sympathies during the time when Cécile was taken by illness. No wonder my feelings have been so resolutely misconstrued!

But I tell myself that it may be my own error of perception, not hers. I said to you in my last letter, did I not, that the Marquise inspired the same sentiment in me as Cécile had? Perhaps I did desire this as much as she thought I did, as much as I can feel desire for any woman. I shall not turn my back on this thought. Madame de Merteuil's intimate company is very pleasant and I should count myself most fortunate to be her lover. It is gratifying to be desired. Very well, I shall steep myself in it to the utmost, and I intend to pay court to her as no man has ever equalled. There is my recompense.

2nd December, 17--

 

 _From the Chevalier Rémillard to the Chevalier Danceny_

My friend, the bitterness in your last letter! Is this the same Danceny that I have so long counted as my bosom companion? That Danceny may have been less seasoned but I valued him all the same for his virtue and kindness.

I fear much of this is my fault after all. If I had not teased you with doubts about your Cécile, or if I had not told you to feign passions in your letters that you did not feel, perhaps I would not be confronted with the cynical man I find in these last letters. Chide me, my friend, not yourself. I should have been a better friend, a better guide for you. Do not abandon the idea, I plead, that there can be happiness and real love in the world instead of this sham you play; I will never forgive myself if you have.

4th December, 17--

 

 _From the Chevalier Danceny to the Chevalier Rémillard_

I alone am responsible for my unhappiness, my dear friend. I know this. The moment of despair I felt when I learned the Vicomte de Valmont has sought my company these past few days while I have been closeted with the Marquise has sunk me into such a pit of despair that I can no longer ignore the source of that bitterness of which you speak.

The letter which has come from the Vicomte chastises me for a lack of confidence in him, and for my lack of fidelity. Ah, if only I could think that those accusations meant what I wish them to mean! If the fidelity of which he spoke was meant to reflect mine to him, how fervently I would convince him that I should never stray, if he were only to ask. But I know he means only my fidelity to Cécile; there are no double meanings here. In the same letter he speaks to me of the lady-love from whom he is now separated, and the separation from whom he regrets, so, I have my answer plainly.

I shall write to him all the same, to assure him of my deep feelings toward Cécile, and at least I may gain his acclaim in this if I can gain no more of him. I shall pretend indifference to him, as I must. And yet I know that when I set pen to paper to write to him, every line of my heart shall be there on that page for him to see, if he will only look for it, though I know he will not. Ah, I am wretched.

5th December, 17--

 

 _From the Chevalier Danceny to the Chevalier Rémillard_

That I should never have been born, rather than I live to see this day, that is the utmost wish of my heart. Heart, do I say? What heart? It is burnt to a cinder.

Valmont has played me false, always false. I have it in his own hand, in letters provided by the Marquise de Merteuil. He has dishonored Cécile, which was always his intention, and used me ill, not in the soul of friendship and certainly not in the soul of anything finer either.

You would have said it earlier; I know you would have. You tried to say it in your letters to me, only you know how obstinate I am, how I would have become angry with you if you had shed disdain on he with whom I was so taken, and so there is no one to blame but myself. I am a fool and worse than a fool.

There is nothing for it but to cling to the trappings of honor. I shall see the Vicomte de Valmont one more time, and then, it is certain, one way or the other, I shall see him no more. If I do not survive the encounter, my dearest friend, I shall see that word is speedily brought to you. God keep you, always.

6th December, 17--

 

 _From the Chevalier Danceny to the Chevalier Rémillard_

Valmont is dead.

That my hand which killed him can hold something so commonplace as a pen and write these words to you seems ludicrous, and yet I know now that in the wrong hands this lowly pen is ten times as monstrous, ten times as ruinous, as any sword.

I have learned, from the letters that Monsieur de Valmont has bequeathed to me, that the whole of his deception, the root of our quarrel, rested solely in the machinations of Madame de Merteuil, who set him upon a path to ruin Cécile for her own whims, who would have used me to do that very deed if she had found me of a more useful quality for her purposes, and who then set the two of us against each other for no other outcome that I can see but to remove one or both of us permanently. That wicked woman has had her wish! It may have been her arm behind the actions but it was my hand that drove the sword, drove it against the one player in all this I would most have wished to keep at my side. That he was no innocent in this affair, it must still be said, is not justification enough for what I have done, and certainly never enough for what she has done.

Valmont is dead, and I live. It seems impossible. I even live forgiven, for the Vicomte told me, before he died, that I was his friend and he bore me no ill will for being snared, like him, in the Marquise's trap. He did not tell me that he ever loved me in the way I had wished him to love me, as I loved him; I know that his affections for me never ran so deep as they did for his lady, Madame de Tourvel, and I have done nothing to be worthy of such a love. If I thought that he had returned my feelings to that same degree, indeed, I do not believe I could convince myself to go on living, I, his murderer.

Valmont, dead, and all that is left to me is the story contained in these letters. I shall avenge him the only way I can, and see that the reputation of this wicked Marquise is felled by sharing the letters which will damn her in her own hand. There is my purpose. After, I shall live, but I will not do so here. Forgive me my cowardice in removing myself to a physical distance even greater from you, but I shall not permit myself to cling to the city where he lived; I would make a shrine of it, with myself as disciple, and that would be an honor I would never deserve. Instead I see no salvation for me but that I shall return to the order of Malta, and take vows. Pray for me, my friend, as I seek an expiation of which I know I shall never be worthy.

7th December, 17--


End file.
